Page 129 of Midnight Conquest

The campsite was small and hastily made, a pitiful excuse for a shelter barely visible in the shadows. But it wasn’t the shelter that caught Angus’s attention—it was the woman sitting on a boulder by the fire, her arms wrapped around her knees as she stared into the flames.

Angus’s lips curled into a slow, predatory smile. He recognized her instantly from the fragments of memory he’d plucked from the villagers’ minds. Veronique. She had been with Broderick and the Gypsies. Her face was pale and taut withexhaustion, shadows bruising the delicate skin beneath her eyes.

He stretched his senses outward again, tasting the night air for danger. The forest was quiet—too quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire and the distant hoot of an owl. No other Vamsyrian lingered nearby, though. Satisfied, Angus stepped into the light of the fire, his smile widening as Veronique’s head snapped up.

She froze, her eyes wide with terror as she took in his towering figure. Reflexively, she reached behind her and produced a dagger from her belt, pointing the blade at him with a trembling hand.

Angus tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with cold amusement. “What are ye doing out here…all alone? Veronique.”

Her breath hitched, and she scrambled to her feet, clutching at the edges of her cloak as if they might shield her from him. She narrowed her eyes and slowly retreated a step, though the firelight betrayed her fear.

Angus chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that threaded through the dark like a predator’s purr. “Ye dinnae talk much, do ye?” He prowled closer, savoring the way she flinched with every step. “Where’s Broderick?”

Her thoughts—in rapid, panicked French—were tangled and desperate, but one thought shone bright amidst the chaos “Angus Campbell.”Recognition flared in her eyes, and fear rolled off her in palpable waves.

Before she could bolt, Angus moved. In the blink of an eye, he was before her, his hand clamping around her wrist like an iron shackle. “Ah, ah, ah, lass,” he cooed, pulling her closer. “Ye’re exactly the person I need.”

She struggled, breath panting with panic, but Angus’s grip was merciless. He drew her tight against him, her fists thuddinguselessly against his chest. He leaned in, lips peeling back, revealing his gleaming fangs that caught the firelight, and pierced her throat.

Veronique let out a strangled cry, her body stiffening before slackening in his arms. Angus drank deeply, the hot rush of her blood flooding his senses. Fear and despair seasoned it, the perfect vintage. Beneath it all, her memories of her Romani life, traveling with Broderick. She knew exactly what he was, but this pathetic mortal was in love with him. Nay, obsessed. And that was something Angus could leverage.

With a satisfied sigh, Angus broke the crimson kiss, his head tipping back as he let loose a dark, triumphant laugh that echoed through the forest like a predator’s victory call.

He had Broderick now. Right where he wanted him.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Broderick stood outside her door, his hand hovering over the handle. He had faced death before. He had stared down swords, fire, and the blazing sun, with only the cold certainty of his immortality to shield him. But now, standing outside Davina’s chamber, he felt something he hadn’t felt in decades.

Fear.

He clenched his jaw and pushed the door open before he could lose his resolve. The room was lit by the fire blazing in the hearth. Davina stood near the open balcony, her arms wrapped around herself as if bracing against the frigid wind that teased the silken curtains. She turned at the sound of the door, and the way her face lit up sent a dull throb through his chest.

“Broderick,” she breathed, her voice soft, almost disbelieving. She crossed the room quickly, throwing her arms around him. He caught her, holding her tightly as her warmth seeped into him, grounding him, anchoring him to the moment.

For a fleeting second, he let himself believe this could last. That he could stay in her arms, pretend to be the man she thought he was, and keep his monstrous truth buried where it couldn’t hurt her. But he couldn’t. Not anymore.

“This day was so long,” she whispered against his chest.

“Aye, lass,” he murmured, his voice roughened by unspoken fears. He tipped her chin up so he could see her face. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears like precious jewels, her lips curved into a faint, hesitant smile. Doubt clouded her sapphire gaze, a storm of uncertainty flickering beneath her bravery.

“Davina…” He swallowed hard, his throat tightening like a noose. “Ye deserve the truth. I’ll no’ keep it from ye any longer. But I want ye tae know…” He closed his eyes briefly, fighting the ache in his heart, gathering the last fragments of courage he possessed.

“You can tell me,” she whispered, placing her palm against his cheek. He leaned into her touch, desperate for the comfort it offered.

He drew a deep breath, as if the act could ease the crushing weight in his chest. “Before I say anythin’, I need ye tae know one thing—and I need ye tae believe it. I dinnae just care about ye, Davina. I love ye. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

His voice cracked on the last word, raw and exposed. He hated how vulnerable it made him feel, but he clung to the hope that his truth, his love for her, would be strong enough to weather the storm to come.

Her lips parted in surprise, and for a moment, she simply stared at him.

“Aye,” he said, his voice shaking. “I’ve been fightin’ it since the moment I met ye in Aberdeen. I thought ye were just an itch that needed scratchin’, but I was foolin’ meself. What’s here…” Helaid her hand over his heart, the beat beneath steady and strong. “It’s somethin’ I cannae explain.”

Tears welled in her eyes, glistening like dew caught in morning light. “I care for you, too. I care so much…” She hesitated, her hand faltering, fingertips trembling against the fabric of his shirt. “But…”

“I ken, Blossom. The truth.” He closed his eyes, the weight of the moment pressing down like a millstone on his chest. He swallowed the lump of fear in his throat. “I’m a member of a race called Vamsyrians.”

“A race of people?” she asked, her voice tight, thin as stretched silk.

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